


Adrenaline

by gracefultree



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: "You are liege lord to my knight, master to my samurai, handler to my agent.  I will swear any oath to you, make any vow, follow any order."





	Adrenaline

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a rough couple of days for me, so to make myself feel better, I'm uploading a sweet bit of fluff. I'll get back to my WIPs at some point, but not today.  
> Enjoy!

The first time, John shoved Harold out of the way of the bad guy’s bullets and dispatched the enemy before he could kill either of them or the number. He turned to check on Harold and found himself dragged down by the lapels of his suit jacket into a wild, passionate kiss. He returned the kiss, of course, even though he’d never thought of Harold that way. It felt good in the moment, he reasoned, and he wasn’t _opposed_ to the idea. He’d follow Harold’s lead in this, as he was learning to do about most things.

He took a cautious step back when Harold’s hands loosened and his lips stilled. Harold’s eyes were wide, his cheeks pink, his lips slightly swollen. It was a good look on him, John mused.

“Mr. Reese, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Harold said, rushing to fill the silence, his voice embarrassed and full of regret. He clearly hadn’t intended to kiss him, and didn’t seem interested in continuing. “It’ll never —“

“Adrenaline, Finch,” John interrupted. “It does that sometimes.”

Harold nodded, accepting the excuse. “Oh, of course. That, that makes sense. We’d better check in with Mr. Somers,” he said, already back to business. They had a few awkward hours where they spent time choosing their words more carefully and avoiding eye contact, but by the time Harold got another number the next morning, everything between them was back to normal. There were no longing glances that John could see, and neither of them acted any differently towards each other.

.

.

.

The second time was John’s fault. He tackled Finch to the ground seconds before the car bomb went off, covering his boss with his own body to protect him. He came to a minute later, Harold’s concerned voice in his ear calling his name and his hand on John’s shoulder, shaking him gently. When he shifted to lift himself off the ground he felt the unmistakeable swell of a half-hard dick against his thigh. He blinked at Harold for a moment, then surged down to kiss him, needing to reward the man for living, for caring about him, for giving John a purpose and a job.

John pulled away abruptly, hearing sirens. The warehouse district would be overrun with cops soon and they needed to be away. He stood and helped Harold to his feet, hoping he could keep his own semi to himself but reasonably sure that Harold would have felt it when they’d been kissing.

“That was — um — adrenaline again?” Harold asked as he brushed dust off his suit. He wouldn’t meet John’s eyes.

“Yeah, Harold, that’s what it was.”

It took almost a week for the speculative glances from Harold to stop, though at least for John’s piece of mind he didn’t linger on John’s ass or watch him with any sort of hunger. John wondered how long it had been since Harold had lain somewhere with a warm body of top of him and if that’s all it had been about.

He waited for Harold to ask, but he never did. 

.

.

.

The third time — the third time John dragged Finch to his feet, manhandled him across the busy train station lobby with a hand under his arm, and got them into the first cab he could find. Harold was sluggish, definitely drugged, and probably confused, but he recognized John and hadn’t been shot, so John didn’t care about any of the other issues.

The hotel he found was ten minutes from the station, so close that John hoped Root would overlook it, assuming John took them as far away as possible. Harold stood by his side at the front desk and then in the elevator, responding to John’s directions, but not as mentally with it as John would have liked.

Once inside the hotel room — the door just closed — Harold came back to himself and pushed John up against the wall and kissed him to within an inch of his life.

“I don’t care if it’s just chemicals, John, I need this, please,” he begged in a harsh whisper between kisses.

John backed them into the room and reached for Harold’s fly.

It took all of five minutes to get them both off.

.

.

.

John woke curled around Harold in the large hotel bed, still in his clothes, though he’d tucked his dick away sometime before he collapsed. Harold also wore most of this clothing — with the exception of his tie and jacket. John groaned, rolling to his back, trying to figure out what kind of damage control they’d need.

More than usual, he decided, because he’d gone and fallen in love with his boss without even realizing he’d been compromised. Kara, if she were alive, would be having a field day scolding and teasing him about it.

Harold woke slowly, three hours later. He squinted at John without his glasses, then looked at himself, running a hand down his chest and over his stubbled cheeks. Showered and in new clothes, with a fresh suit for Finch in the closet, John was by the window, standing guard. Harold pushed himself into a sitting position, catching John’s attention.

“How long did I sleep?” Harold asked, his voice low and groggy. He found his glasses and wiped them with the sheet before putting them on. There was no way he could miss the indentation of John’s head on the pillow next to him.

“Fifteen hours,” John answered. “You needed it.”

“You?”

“Twelve.” John returned his attention to the window. “We’re safe, as far as I can tell.”

“She —“ 

“She’s in the wind. I don’t think we’ll hear from her for a while.” 

“If you would order some food, I’ll get cleaned up and we can return to New York,” Harold decided. 

.

.

.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” Harold said snippily, before John could speak. It didn’t surprise him that Harold wouldn’t talk about being abducted and tortured. Given their history, he didn’t think Harold would want to talk about the hand jobs, either, especially with the utter and complete silence on the matter since they woke up the hotel. Or, worse yet, he’d somehow intuit and want to talk about the feelings John had discovered inside himself as he raced after a tiny scrap of a clue to find Harold before it was too late. 

Although, it might not be a bad thing if only one of them was compromised this way.

He was wrong.

“Does it have to be beer?” Harold asked once the situation with their number was cleared up. He’d been especially quiet lately, lost in thought, and John was curious about what was going through his enigmatic employer’s mind.

John smiled to himself, happy that Harold was engaging with him. “Whatever you want, Harold,” he replied. “Wine, cocktails…”

Harold stopped as soon as they got back onto the sidewalk from the street. He turned his entire body to face John. “What I’d really like is to lay you out on my bed and touch you without the kick of adrenaline muddying the waters,” he stated calmly.

“You want to have sex?”

“Even if it weren’t the logical next step, yes, I think I’d like that very much.”

“Ever been with a guy?” John asked, even as he hailed a cab. A necessary question, he told himself, and if they were going to have sex, they should be able to talk about it with each other.

“Of course not,” Harold snapped. “I find myself transfixed by the idea of doing it with _you_ , Mr. Reese. Biological sex or gender have nothing to do with my desire.”

_Give him an out_ , John’s brain screamed. _It’ll hurt less when he sees your dick and runs._

“I won’t be insulted if you change your mind,” John offered in one of his most mild voices, holding open the cab door for Harold. “Might be intimidating when you’re up close and personal.”

Harold pressed his lips together and sent John an inscrutable look. He gave an address to the cabbie that John didn’t know. A penthouse overlooking Central Park, the apartment was filled with all the trappings of luxury John had come to know from his time working for Harold.

“Who’s place is this?” he asked, wandering the main room and assessing the sight lines from the windows. Bear joined him as soon as Harold unclipped his leash. There was a dog bed in the corner, and a metal water dish in the kitchen. 

“Mine,” Harold answered. He hung up his overcoat and went to take John’s. “I’ve never brought anyone here,” he added when his back was to John. “Even with Grace or Nathan I never felt comfortable enough with them to bring them here.”

John turned away from the window to watch Harold take out a hanger, settle his coat, then put it away in the closet. He straightened the lay of the fabric before closing the door and facing John.

“What I mean to say, John, is that I trust you. I feel safe with you — as safe as I believe it’s possible for me to feel, anyway. Nathan, who was my closest friend and confidant, is dead. Grace, while alive and still in love with me, wouldn’t understand who I truly am. She wouldn’t stay with me if I intended to keep up our work, or my aliases, or my considerable cache of secrets. She’s far too naive for the world in which you and I live.”

He crossed the large room to where John stood.

“Perhaps it’s naive of me to suggest we add sex to our relationship. Perhaps it will just create an emotional attachment that will put us in danger. But then I think of you and I realize that my feelings are already engaged, that my regard for you is already far greater than it should be for an employee, however much of a friend he’s become. I’m not — I won’t label my feelings, though I believe sex is a crude euphemism for what I’d like between us.”

“Partners in every sense of the word,” John commented.

“I will always have secrets I cannot share, even with a person who knows me as well as you do. You should know that walking in.”

“Keep your secrets,” John murmured, cupping Harold’s cheek, hope flaring in his chest when Harold leaned into the touch. “I’d rather have _you_.” He cupped Harold’s other cheek and held his gaze, sure, now, that Harold was completely serious and honest with him about this. “My life is tied to yours, Harold. I negotiated with the Machine to find you. I can’t go on without you, and it knew. You are liege lord to my knight, master to my samurai, handler to my agent. I will swear any oath to you, make any vow, follow any order.”

John took a deep breath and let it out as he dropped to one knee, holding both of Harold’s hands in his as he looked up at him. Harold’s eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.

“I will be lover to your beloved, Harold. As long as we live.”

“I aught to buy you a ring,” Harold whispered, awe in his voice. He squeezed John’s fingers.

“Tell me what you want and I will move mountains to give it to you.”

“For now, take me to bed,” Harold said, tugging gently on John’s hands to get him to stand. “Show me what it’s like to be the center of your world.”

.

.

.


End file.
